The Crabby Curmudgeon: Rules, Rigor, and Rebellion

We're taking a break from our regularly scheduled post today to bring you a message about those pesky writing conventions that either annoy us so badly we want to drink house paint or make us stick our fingers in our ears while sing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Today, we hear from the Crabby Curmudgeon. The transcript follows below.

Video Transcript

Hi. This is the Write Wind and I’m Mike Frickstad: Writer, retired teacher/speech coach, and today coming to you as THE CRABBY CURMUDGEON.

Hi. You know, one of the joys of teaching English—and I say this totally facetiously—was explaining “the rules.” Spelling rules, usage rules, capitalization rules, poetry rules … Now, what made teaching them so much fun was the glazed looks, the smudged papers from sweaty palms, and the complaints.

“Oh, man! I hate rules!”

“English is too hard. When does the bell ring?”

“Whatta we need to learn rules for? We already talk good.”

(That one is my favorite.)

“Here’s the deal,” I’d tell them. “Even if you talk and write gooder than you think you need to, you need to make sure you can be understood by anybody with even a smattering of English ability. Rules give you a solid foundation that eliminates misinterpretation. If everybody has the same foundation, there will be less confusion and less conflict. Life will be wonderful.”

That would keep the little buggers satisfied for all of about five minutes, just long enough for them to begin their assignment. Oh, every new rule revived their discontent, but they eventually got sick of “Foundation. Foundation. Foundation,” and they’d shut up.

Until we got to literature. Then all heck would break loose.

We would a read a story by Ray Bradbury …

“Hey, these ain’t sentences. There ain't no verbs.”

We would read Emily Dickinson …

“What the …? Those words don’t rhyme. And there are too many syllables in the second line. And what’s with all those dashes and crap? That ain’t a poem!”

We would attempt e e cummings …

“WHAT?!?! No capitals? No punctuation? Letters and words scattered all over the page? Din’t that guy learn nothing in ninth grade? He’s nuts! Hey, if these famous guys don’t know the rules, why do we gotta?” 

Here’s why.

Read more of these people. They knew the rules. They just chose to break them for very specific and valid reasons.

Bradbury used fragments to create mood, tension, or  rapid snapshots of action. Kinda like that Instagram ... whatever that is

Dickinson used extra syllables to make sure we’re paying attention. And the line endings don’t rhyme so we’re overwhelmed by the right word, not the “right sound.” Her punctuation has more to do with pace than with grammar.

cummings … cummings ... Okay, he was nuts, but his earlier poems were purely traditional. His later poems, pure genius. Why? Because he rebelled against the rules. ON PURPOSE! Punctuation, capitalization, structure? Too confining. They force a single meaning on the reader. Instead, cummings forced us readers to find our own meaning. His way, the shortest poem—or part of a poem—can have a myriad of interpretations. Every time we read it, more and more meanings.

“Yeah? So?”

Hey! Do it my way, okay? Learn the rules. Every one of them. Use them over and over until you don’t even have to think about them. They’re just part of who you are. Then break them! Go ahead. Break them. As long as you have a GOOD reason.

“And if we don’t?”

That’s when I developed the look. You know the one I mean. Every English teacher has one. That look that wordlessly sends students back to their texts and notebooks muttering vague obscenities.

Okay. Just let me recap that advice for you writers: Learn the rules. Rigorously and repeatedly use them until they’re second nature. Then wreck ‘em! Stomp the heck out ‘em and develop your own. It’s fun.

Okay. That’s it. I’m the Crabby Curmudgeon for Mike Frickstad and the Write Wind. I’ll be back later. Until then, use the comment box. I’ll get back to you.